


How Harry Became Squalo

by Starchains



Series: Beginnings and Becomings [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Gen, Mafia School
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 02:02:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3673395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starchains/pseuds/Starchains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a sword that killed the Basilisk, not magic. If the weapon was that powerful, Harry was going to learn to use it properly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Harry Became Squalo

Harry stared at Dobby. The house elf was bowing frantically, promising to do anything he could to repay 'Harry Potter Sir'. Harry hadn't been expecting to see the elf in his room that night, or ever again if he was honest, and he was about to send him away when he remembered a thought he'd had while in the hospital wing.

"Dobby," he asked quietly, "could you find me a sword? One that I would be able to use?" After all, Gryffindor's sword had been almost too heavy for him to lift, let alone fight with effectively.

Dobby nodded, seeming ecstatic to be able to help. He popped away. Harry turned his impulsive idea over in his mind. Magic hadn't helped him in the Chamber. It had been a sword that had saved his life, and he had almost died because he didn't know how to use it properly. He was going to learn though, and learn well. Besides, even if he wasn't allowed to use magic to defend himself during the holidays, a sword wasn't magical, was it?

Dobby squeaked at the evil grin on Harry's face as he handed over the priceless Malfoy family heirloom.

xxx

Fred and George had been more than willing to put a charm on the sword that would make people overlook it. They had offered to make it weightless too, but Harry had declined. He was going to learn this the hard way. He wasn't going to disrespect the weapon that had saved his life by taking shortcuts.

All of the Weasley family was eager to help him. Percy had even overlooked the fact that he had a weapon in his dorm room! Harry didn't see why they were all so worried over him. He had survived with no permanent damage, and only cosmetic changes. It had been scary, but facing down Voldemort was becoming routine for him now. Ron nearly fainted when he mentioned that though, so he decided not to repeat it.

He had been shocked when he first looked in a mirror after making it back to his room. His hair was white! After his shock had worn off, he decided that his hair being bleached was a small price to pay for killing a basilisk, even if it did make him look like Malfoy. Likewise, the colour being bleached out of his eyes seemed like an adequate trade-off for being able to see properly. The phoenix tears had apparently done more healing that he had expected.

Luckily, his naturally messy hair was different enough from Malfoy's slicked-back look that they weren't mistaken for each other even at a distance. He might hex the first person to call him Malfoy. He got some teasing for it, but most people seemed to be assuming it was a prank. Harry had asked the twins to support that idea. He didn't need people looking at him like he was any more of a freak.

xxx

Aunt Petunia had thrown a fit over his hair. She didn't want him running around looking like some bleach-blond hooligan. He pointed out that she had been telling the neighbours that he was a hooligan, so he may as well look the part. She had pursed her lips and dropped the subject, but she seemed to get even more vindictive pleasure than usual from locking his belonging away. Because the Dursleys couldn't see his sword it didn't get locked in the cupboard with all the rest of his stuff, but everything else, even his wand, was out of reach now. Harry cursed his lack of foresight; he should have asked Fred to apply the charm to all of his belongings. Still, that might have led to awkward questions. He'd managed to avoid the issue of the bars on his window quite nicely, and had no intention of doing anything that might bring the subject up again.

Without his wand, he was unable to retrieve his trunk from under the stairs. That meant that it was just him and his sword out at night, with nothing else but the clothes on his back and Uncle Vernon's wallet. He shouldn't have blown up at Aunt Marge – or blown Aunt Marge up – but he couldn't help losing his temper. His parents had died to protect him, and he was proud of them. He wasn't going to let anyone badmouth them, no matter the consequences. And these consequences looked pretty dire.

xxx

"Do you know how to use that sword?" the man asked him. They were sitting across from each other in a little café.

"No," Harry confessed. The man glared at him, the wary approval from his first look gone.

"Then why do you carry it, boy?" He was all but snarling.

Harry forced down his irritation at the name. 'Boy' was Uncle Vernon's favourite name for him. When he was younger, he used to wonder if he even knew what Harry's name was. He fought to keep his voice level. The man hadn't even told him his name, but Harry knew he was dangerous. There weren't many men who would stop you with a knife to your throat and then force you into a café to drink tea.

"Because a sword saved my life. I'm going to learn how to use it, but finding a teacher isn't easy." Harry refused to feel embarrassed. It wasn't his fault that sword fighting wasn't a common skill any more.

"Do you have family?" The glare had faded a little, but the man was still stern.

"No." The Dursleys didn't count. They had spent the whole of his life denying that he was any relation of theirs.

"You're coming with me. I'll teach you how to use the sword. You'll get good enough to kill me, or you'll die trying. Forget your old life and your old name, it's over now."

The man stood up and walked out of the café, leaving his untouched drink. Harry hurried after him.

xxx

His teacher, who insisted on being addressed simply as 'Sir', was a demon. He had spent the entire summer with Harry in Italy. In the mornings, he ran Harry through a series of exercise that he called 'warm-ups' that left Harry a crumpled heap on the ground. Then he ran through basic sword drills until lunch. After lunch, when his muscles were all but jelly, there was school. Not literally, because it was just him and Sir, but he was taught Italian, Maths, Science, History and Geography, with a smattering of whatever else Sir thought he needed to know. After that it was dinner, some more exercise and then bed. After the first week, he spoke to Harry only in Italian. He also refused to call Harry anything but 'boy' once Harry told him how much he hated it.

Harry learned fast. Not only the physical and academic skills. He realised that no one would respect weakness, and that even quiet strength could easily be mistaken for passivity. The first time he had shouted back at Sir he had cowered, unable to believe his own audacity. Sir had laughed and clapped him on the back, before having him run laps until he passed out for being unable to follow through. By the end of the summer, he was speaking consistently at a volume most people would call 'ear-bleedingly loud'. It had started as a mask. Harry struggled to pretend confidence, but most people would mistake loudness for self-assurance, and few people would argue with someone shouting in their ear. Eventually it became normal for him, and it amused Sir.

At the end of the summer, Sir gave him his very own sword. Then he sent him off to school with a new name – Superbi Squalo. He liked the name. He appreciated the reminder to be proud, that it was okay to take pride in his skill. And who wouldn't think that sharks were awesome? He had also enjoyed the disgruntled look on Sir's face when he responded with pleasure, instead of dismay or embarrassment like Sir had obviously been expecting.

xxx

A school for Mafia children. Really? He'd figured out that Sir probably wasn't on the right side of the law, but this was just ridiculous. What was even more ridiculous was how pathetic most of the students were. He'd expected to be behind the curve, since he'd only had his crazy summer to catch up to children who had been involved in this their whole lives.

But no. Just like at Hogwarts, where being raised in a magical household didn't seem to offer any significant benefit, the Mafia raised children didn't seem to have absorbed anything useful from their criminal upbringing. He was near the top of his class for academics, he was faster, stronger and had more endurance at sports, and he even got high marks in his Diplomacy class. Apparently in the Mafia, the only thing that really mattered in negotiations was succeeding. Shouting the other guy down and waving a sword in his face until he agreed was totally okay.

He spent every day after school training with Sir. He learned to do all of his homework at school, because once class was over, it was sword training time. Sir was merciless. Squalo counted it as a good match if none of his cuts needed stitches and he didn't break any bones. Good matches were few and far between. Instead of crumbling like Harry might have done at the increased pressure, Squalo thrived. He became popular quickly. The other students tried to make him into an idol, and he had to send a dozen of them to the hospital, one permanently, before they got the message. He didn't want to be followed. He would cut out his path, and he didn't want anyone else following him. He was tired of having everyone else's problems on his shoulders, and their opinions dragging him down. Harry had been forced to carry that burden, but Squalo refused.

xxx

There was a weird blond kid following him around. Dino Cavallone was pathetic. He could trip over thin air, he wasn't allowed in any kind of physical class because he was a danger to everyone around him, and academically he was at the bottom. Combine that with his pathetically weak family and the kid was a victim. Squalo was almost tempted to beat him up for daring to approach him, but decided not to. It would be like kicking a puppy. And it would be an insult to his sword to use it to skewer such a wimp.

At least having a minion was useful. It was moderately amusing watching him scramble to complete whatever errand Squalo set him, and his absurd gratitude for whatever shouted advice he offered on the homework was almost cute. In return for the entertainment he offered, Squalo defended him from bullies. Mafia school didn't care about the injuries its students inflicted on each other as long as no one was too seriously maimed. He refused to call them friends, but he enjoyed Cavallone's company. And useless family or not, an heir was still a useful thing to have in your pocket. That was how Squalo defended his decision to Sir, anyway.

He would never admit that Dino reminded him of Neville, just a bit. The reminder was more comforting that painful. The pain of leaving his friends behind had long since faded. He had been too exhausted to think of them during the summer, and before he realised it, time had dulled the memories. Ron and Hermione didn't belong in this world anyway. The reminder of Hogwarts had made him realise that he didn't belong in that world anymore anyway. He wouldn't return if he could. Still, he could build Dino up in a way he couldn't with Neville, even the clumsy blond seemed more terrified than motivated by his bellows of encouragement.

xxx

"Why do you try so hard?" Dino asked as he dropped to the ground in exhaustion. Squalo had spent the past three hours pushing him through basic exercises. He might not be able to make a fighter out of him, but he could at least make him fit enough to not be embarrassment.

"What the hell do you mean?" Squalo was honestly baffled. Not trying hard had never even occurred to him.

"I'm pathetic. About the only thing I'm good at is languages. Why do you waste so much time with me?"

And that was where Squalo lost patience. Even when he was a pathetic brat grovelling in a cupboard, he had never given up like Dino seemed to want to.

"You are pathetic! You have no ambition at all! Are you really going to spend the rest of your life as a useless, whining brat? I'm not going to be satisfied with that. I'm going to cut through everything that gets in my way, and I'm going to be the best. Right now, your uselessness is in my way. I can cut through it or I can cut through you! Which would you like?" Squalo snarled as he held his sword at the throat of his wide-eyed friend.

"I don't want to be useless." There was resolve in Dino's eyes now. Good.

"Then get the hell up and start running!"

Dino was on his feet in an instant, dashing away. Squalo's sword was a motivator, always just a hairs breadth behind him. Squalo laughed as his minion fell again. A chance to vent, a motivated Dino and entertainment. Today was a good day.

xxx

He had never wanted to be the leader of the damned Varia! He wasn't a member of the Vongola, he wasn't an assassin and he wasn't insane, so he didn't even fit any of the criteria. But Tyr had killed Sir, and that just wasn't allowed. Sir was his mentor, the closest thing he'd ever had to a father. If anyone had the right to kill him, it was Squalo. Not anyone else, even the 'Sword Emperor'. So he had challenged the man. Fought him blade to blade for two days. It took everything he had. All his single minded focus, all his skills, all his dirty tricks. It cost him his hand, some new scars, and more blood than anyone should be able to lose. But on the second day of fighting, Tyr had slipped. Just for a second, he had lost his balance. Squalo had struck. He had met his opponent's eyes as he impaled him on his sword, and watched the life fade from them. Like puppets with their strings cut, they both tumbled to the ground. Now that his opponent was dead, every last bit of hurt and exhaustion that he had been pushing away hit him at once. As his eyes slid closed, he smiled. He was a master of the sword now.

He woke up in a hospital, dressed in a flimsy gown, wrapped in bandages. A man with the most ridiculous multi-coloured hair was sitting on a chair next to him. As he turned his head towards him, the man grinned.

"The boss is finally awake!" His voice was irritating. It almost sounded like he was singing. God, the Varia was insane. Wait, boss?

His confusion must have shown on his face, because the idiot laughed at him.

"You're the boss of the Varia now! You killed the last boss, after all. You're probably the most powerful fourteen year old in the world." With that, the man left. Had he been waiting in his room and watching him sleep just to let him know that? The Varia was made up of freaks.

Squalo was glad for the chance to think. Boss? He didn't want to lead. Didn't want that pedestal. But if he was the most powerful, who else could lead? He refused to serve someone weaker than himself. Groaning to himself, he closed his eyes. He ached everywhere. Sleep sounded good.

xxx

Squalo had almost despaired of finding someone adequate. He didn't want to lead the Varia – nothing had happened to change his first impression of them all being freaks – but there was no one else. He hadn't found anyone strong enough to relinquish leadership to, so he was in charge. Luckily, the job wasn't too complex. All he had to do was familiarise himself with the strengths and weaknesses of every member of the Varia, sort the missions, assign them to the right people, sign the paperwork, meet with clients and scream at people who weren't training hard enough. Simple. Dino had thrown a hissy fit when he dropped out of school, but he didn't have a choice. Running a group of assassins was a full time job. Besides, having to do homework was just embarrassing. The crazy eight year old prince (God, the Varia attracted weirdoes) didn't have school, so it seemed to be optional for the Varia anyway.

It was at a party when he met him. The Vongola Ninth was throwing some kind of event, and the presence of the head of the Varia was compulsory. He was getting bored when he laid eyes on him. The dark haired teenager was lounging against a pillar. He looked a couple of years older than Squalo. But it wasn't his looks that were impressive. Squalo could tell that this was the man. He would never be able to beat him. Entranced, he wandered over, not paying any attention to the partygoers he pushed out of his way. His Sky flames were intoxicating. Then the teen turned and their eyes met. The rage burning there took his breath away. This was a man who would cut down anything that stood in his way. This was a man that Squalo could follow.


End file.
